


Honour, Trust and Honesty

by azureice20



Series: The Alternate Universes of Game of Thrones [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Sharra Arryn - Freeform, additionaltagstocome, morepairingstobeadded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azureice20/pseuds/azureice20
Summary: Robb Stark, though many Lords doubt him, is neither a fool nor gullible when it comes to leadership. Despite his youth, he understands the difficult decisions one must make to ensure the freedom and peace the North years for. Sharra Arryn, of the Vale, took upon herself the mantle of leadership following her father’s death. United, together, the world will change.





	Honour, Trust and Honesty

A swift kick, a half turn and a thrust. Again. This time bring up the shield to block. Protect your head. Duck!   
The instructions drilled into Robb’s head from years of training under Rodrick Cassel sang through his head like a set of specific instructions. It was a curtain of numb blackness that over swept his mind as a clinical control of cool confidence descended upon his limbs. The man had lost his innocence on the battlefield, and it showed.   
To an onlooker, Robb looked not like a man training hard to battle the enemies but like a dancer. His sword shone in the moonlight, its steel glinting as it whirled around. His loose tunic and hair stood as no opponent to his beautiful movements. His icy blue eyes were glazed over, unfocused and strangely calm, despite his swift and elegant attacks to the training dummy. Over and over, he stabbed, struck and slashed the poor pathetic object, the only sound coming from the impact of his blade and shield against the straw-filled sack.  
Robb had never lost a fight. In fact, one could almost say that he could never lose a fight. In the last battle, the Battle of Oxcross, this fact was certainly true. His reputation had begun to travel, a reputation of fearlessness that some of the Lannisters had scoffed at, calling him green, until there were only 4 survivors of a company of 2000. Tales had spread of him riding into battle on Greywind’s back, before morphing into a wolf himself, the two, man and beast, obliviating all enemies that came close. Immune to arrows and somehow unaffected by any attack.  
The sound of Greywind approaching broke Robb from his reverie. The training dummy in front of him was looking rather worse for wear, surely in need of some repair. Off to one side, Theon Greyjoy, Robb’s closest friend, sat, scowling at the wolf. He was covered in mud, while Greywind simply looked suspiciously wet. Robb held back a chuckle as he put away his sword.  
“There are some letters for you.” Theon reported, taking out his bow and arrow. “It’s my turn to train anyway.”  
Rolling his eyes, Robb left Theon to his archery and walked back to his council tent. There already were his mother and three closed advisors, Lords Umber and Forrester and Lady Mormont. Their children were also part of Robb’s three-man personal guard, those being Small-Jon, Rodrick and Dacey.   
“Ah, Robb, these letters have arrived.” Robb’s mother announced, holding three separate papers towards him.   
Robb took them, and shuffled them, deciding which to open, as he sat down. The first letter was from Sansa, in King’s Landing. Robb scanned it. It was horrific. Polite and yet demanding he submit to the throne. He wasn’t a fool. Cersei most likely forced Sansa to write the letter, threatening Arya’s head if she refused. Tearing it up, he cast it into the fire, praying to the Old Gods that Sansa would be alright.   
The second letter to be opened was from Renly Baratheon. Robb read it thoroughly. It asked for Robb to meet with Renly, who had declared himself King, and proposed an alliance. Considering it, Robb didn’t like the idea of disrupting the age-old traditions of inheritance, but even he could also admit that Stannis, despite his wisdom, was a poor figurehead for Westeros.  
Finally, there was a letter from home. It was a note from Bran with updates on the maintenance of Winterfell and sent love from both himself and Rickon. This letter, he gave to Catelyn, but the other he kept and waved over his advisors.  
“Renly Baratheon proposes an alliance to put himself on the throne.” He declared. “I am… inclined to treat with him and hear what terms he has.”  
“But he is not the older brother!” Great-Jon Umber protested loudly. “Years, centuries of tradition!”  
“Robb, you cannot do this!” Catelyn agreed. “Your father would…”  
“Traditions are there for a reason.” Gregor Forrester boomed. “We of the North value such things.”  
Robb slammed his fist onto the table.  
“Tradition be damned!” He glared the trio of advisors down. “We broke tradition by leaving the Seven Kingdoms. We broke tradition when I allowed a woman, a valiant, strong woman onto my personal guard.” Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey, the woman in question, nodded. “We broke tradition when we decided that we were not going to simply retreat home and protect our border, but instead to liberate the Riverlands from the stench of the Lannisters. Tradition can hang.”  
Robb sighed, pushing his shoulders back.  
“I will travel to the Baratheon camp. With me will be my guard and Greywind. No others. We must travel swiftly.” He decided. “While I am gone there is to be full guard on Jaime Lannister at all times. The Crown may attempt to trade him for our sisters, but that is a lie. As of now we only know that they have Sansa for certain. Until we receive confirmation of Arya’s wellbeing, no trade will occur.”   
“So, you would throw away a chance of regaining your sisters?” Catelyn asked, furious.  
“We will get Sansa and Arya back.” Robb confirmed. “But I will never trust a Lannister. They do not have Arya, this much I am certain of. Sansa, by the Gods it hurts my soul to abandon her this way, but she is to remain trapped in King’s Landing even if we broker a treaty. Lannisters do not give their toys away easily.”  
“What of the Vale?” Catelyn asked. “Surely Lysa must have come to her senses.”  
“There hasn’t been sight nor sound of the Valemen in months.” Gregor Forrester replied. “The entire region has been sealed ever since the death of Lord Stark.”  
“We must at least write to the Eyrie.” Robb reasoned. “Do we have anything to offer them?”  
“Unless you wed Arya to Sweetrobin.” Catelyn mused. “Or, if Sharra Arryn has returned from Essos, perhaps we could arrange some form of marriage alliance between her and the North.”  
“Sharra Arryn?!” Great-Jon Umber asked incredulously. “I heard she was wilder than even Lyanna Stark! Left for the East to have grand adventures.”  
Robb raised an eyebrow.   
“Who would she marry?” Gregor Forrester asked. “Would she not ask for our King himself and no less?”  
Robb grimaced. Another marriage proposal would not sit well with the Frey allies. To another woman he had never met, to no less.   
“I shall leave for the South in a week then.” He decided. “I will write immediately to the Vale. Should they not reply, or refuse us, we shall return to the original plan – talks with Renly Baratheon.”  
Robb left the tent with a troubled mind. The developments in the Vale had been unknown to him until that point, which annoyed him. Having all the pieces of the puzzle in hand had won him battles thus far, but this control was surely slipping away if even his mother deemed some information not important enough for him to be clued in to.   
Once on his own, in his personal tent, Robb began to pen the letter to his Aunt in the Vale. A woman he had never met, save from when he was barely an infant in Riverrun.  
Lady Lysa Arryn,   
I write to you from the battlefield about a matter of dire importance. The Lannister yoke is nearly broken, and I would have thy help in the crushing of the Lion’s head. The North would beholden you to join our cause for such terms as you deem necessary and which are agreeable.  
Please reply swiftly, as the hour draws close to a new era,  
King Robb Stark, King of the North and Trident.


End file.
